HIST 3014
by wanderinggypsyfeet
Summary: When Belle French walks into to the wrong class, she finds out she's going to learn a lot more than she bargained for. When Professor Gold spots an out of place student in his upper level class, he has no idea exactly who he's teaching. An AU Rumbelle short, two parts, professor Gold/student Belle.
1. Chapter 1

_Because I am obsessed and can't seem to stop writing these two. A 2 part drabble, but I may be convinced to write more!_

 _Prompt: I sat down in the wrong class and I'm panicking but don't want to get up and leave because the class has started and you think it's hilarious and shut up you dumb fuck you don't know me aahhh_

* * *

He lifts his head up from his desk, heaving a great sigh. His 2:15 pm class is his least favorite, mostly because those who choose his late afternoon lectures are taking it because they cannot be bothered to wake up before 1 in the afternoon. They don't prioritize history, especially not a class focusing on the intricacies of Anglo-Saxon medieval artifacts.

He grabs his cane and gathers his things. New year, new semester. Perhaps he'll get a surprise or two in this class. Maybe he'll have one stand out student that will shock him, remind him why he teaches. That'd be pleasant, but he doubts that. He eases into the massive lecture hall, looking around with another sigh. A respected professor at a celebrated university. He should be content.

A couple students trickle in, early. He represses a smirk, wondering if they know the fearsome reputation he carries on campus. The beast, they call him. A brutal grader, task maker, and not likely to accept excuses or apologies. He feels no remorse for this. They don't pay him to play nice with some co-ed that reeks of booze. They pay him to educate them.

As the clock ticks closer to 2:15, he shuffles his papers and prepares for his lecture. The class is filling out now, with most of the back seats taken by the stoners who slump over, hoodies up, eyes low. At 2:14, he clears his throat and goes to the chalkboard, making sure every clearly sees the cane and limp. He's barely picked up a piece of chalk when the door bangs open and slams shut.

He turns around in shock, wondering who would dare show up late to his class. A pretty young girl, in sky high heels and a pretty floral wrap dress is clambering down the stairs, aiming for the only open seat- front row, dead center. He watches her, shocked, as she slides in. She brushes her curly hair back, the thick wave of it cascading over her shoulder. Bright blue eyes catch his and the corners crinkle when she smiles. Her lips, lined with something to make them pink and shimmering, part slightly as she tries to catch her breath.

He tears his eyes off of her, trying not to show how off balance he feels. He picks the chalk up again and beings to write on the board in complete silence. 'HIST 3014. Medieval History and the Anglo-Saxon Period Artifacts.' He turns, ready to address the class with his customary tirade against sleeping in class, late or plagiarized work, and slacking in any form.

He stays silent, mostly because his eyes are once again drawn to the latecomer. She's looking at the board then at a paper in her hand, eyes darting back and forth as the crease between her eyebrows deepen. It doesn't take more than a second for him to realize what's happened and when he does, his lips curl into a sneer.

He strides forward and plucks the paper from her grasp. She makes just a tiny noise of protest but otherwise stays quiet, big eyes staring up at him with her lips in a tiny pout. He reads the schedule easily- she's clearly meant to be two lecture halls over- D, not B. She's in the wrong class. He hands the paper back to her and she's going to grab her bag, so he choses to speak, finally.

"You there. Misfit in the back, with your grandmother's blouse on. Yes, you. Lock the door. I don't need anymore latecomers disrupting me. First lesson. You may not be late to my lecture, nor may you leave early." He booms and a mousey girl scurries to lock the massive double doors.

The girl in front of him looks up, lips parting slightly in disbelief as she realizes what he's doing. He's locking her in, keeping her from her actual class. He hopes, for a second, that she'll actually dare argue with him or attempt to leave anyways. But then she squares her shoulders, reaches down into her bag, and emerges with a notebook and pen, flipping to a clean sheet, and looking at him defiantly, as if to say it's his move once more.

He grins despite himself and then quickly schools his features back into something more intimidating. He limps back to the board, pointing to what he's written there.

"Likely, many of you will hope that today will review the syllabus and then I will dismiss you early so you may carry on drinking and cavorting across this esteemed campus. It will not be so. I expect you to come to my class ready to learn. You will be turned away at the door if you do not bring notes, a writing tool, or a laptop. If you do not finish the homework, I will not accept it.

"If you are late, you will be turned away. I do not accept excuses for missing my class. If you are absent, you best be dead. I will not send you notes. I will not allow you to make things up. I will not extend deadlines. This university has a reputation to uphold. I trust you see it as your duty to do so."

He takes a second to savor the shocked and horrified looks around the room. He likes to see if he can pick those that will drop in the next couple days, before the period closes. Fine by him. Only the strong survive in his class. The mistaken girl, in front of him, carefully finishes her neat notes, then looks up to him, clearly expecting more. A little thrown by the intensity of the blue eyes, he fumbles through his papers.

"This class will be centered on the creation, use, and subsequent discovery of Anglo-Saxon artifacts, specifically those between the era of 450 to 1066. Can anyone tell me why that year marks the end of this period?" He looks around at the scared faces, all desperately trying to avoid his eyes. Except the girl in front, her hand raised high, defiant.

"The norman invasion." She responds, when it becomes clear that no one else will answer him.

"Yes." He struggles to stay on track. She's throwing everything off. "Yes, so we will cover roughly 600 years of history. We will begin with the earliest years. Can anyone tell me how the Angles and Saxons rose to power— Yes?" She's got her hand up again, looking as innocent as possible.

"When the Romans had to pull back to protect their land from invaders such as the Huns and Goths, they saw their opportunity and seized it." She recites and he frowns at her.

"Yes, correct, technically, but, well," He takes a deep breath, then moves on, trying to carry on.

At every turn, she's there to answer every question he has. She even probes his statement about the invasion of the Danes, eyebrows furrowed. But mostly she sits in the front row, attentively taking notes, occasionally lifting her gaze up and watching him. He remains flustered until the clock strikes 3:45 and he dismisses them. Most students scramble for the door, except one.

"I'm Belle, by the way." She introduces herself loudly, once the lecture hall has cleared out and only they remain. He clears his papers, avoiding her gaze. "You're the dark one, aren't you?"

He looks up, surprised at that. It's a new nickname. She smirks, having caught his attention.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Dark one, it's what they call you. Because, you know, your class is on the dark ages and you're always in a bad mood and kind of a hard ass? That's why." She grins sunnily, putting stuff back in her bag. "Interesting class by the way."

"Thank you." Completely taken aback now, he focuses on gathering up his papers and getting out of there.

"For a class I didn't plan on attending today, I learned a lot." She comments, still amused, and he looks at her, wondering if he's going to be cussed at now. She doesn't look upset, not when her eyes are sparkling like the sun glinting off the water.

"Ah, well, yes." He licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. "You were certainly more engaging than the dimwits I am forced to teach to."

"Oh?" She quirks an eyebrow and he flinches, having said too much.

"Of course, that's only because you couldn't seem to be bothered to locate your correct lecture hall." He remarks a little cruelly and she's quiet, watching as he gathers up the last of his things and shoves them into his briefcase.

"Lucky mistake." She says simply. "I never thought I'd have a chance to take a class by the notorious Professor Gold, but here I am. I'm assuming there'll be some openings after today."

"What?" He turns to look at her, a little bewildered. "You're switching to my class?"

"I think so." Belle inspects her schedule. "I'll just take Professor Mills's class next semester."

"Mills." He snorts and Belle peers at him over the schedule. "She's a pompous idiot who is usually distracted seeing how miserable she can make herself and those surrounding her. You'll learn nothing."

"Take it up with the university then." Belle says breezily, slinging her bag onto her back. "I'm required to take that class before I graduate in the spring."

So she's a senior then. He doesn't know why that impacts him in any way. She's a student, nothing more. A student with long legs and pretty toes, painted a deep green. A student with perfect curves and a wicked smile that seems to set his heart racing. She's a student, nothing more.

"Then why are you taking my class?" He asks, unable to stop himself and she pauses, folding her schedule so she can tuck it in a dress pocket.

"It's interesting." She says, as though it should be obvious. "I'm sure your office is covered in artifacts. I'm sure you've visited all the best digs, since you are the leading authority on it. And since I'm a history nerd, I hope that if I annoy you relentlessly enough about it, you'll let me see them."

"You want to see them?" He frowns at her.

"Of course!" Belle's eyes light up. "I'm sure you've got a treasure trove of stuff here. It must be fascinating. Weren't you called to the British Museum to authenticate a piece last year?"

"Yes." He looks at her as if he's never seen anything like her. "Yes, a helmet they thought may have belonged to—" She hangs on his every word as he tells her the story of his travels, of the piece, of how he was able to hold it and touch it, a tangible link to their history.

"Wow." Belle sighs. "That's amazing. I've always wanted to go see that exhibit— Or go to Oxford, I know their collection is amazing as well— but you know, poor university student." She shrugs.

"Yes." He hesitates, torn between maintaining the facade of the big scary professor and opening up his world to a student who seems interested in it. Genuinely interested. "Would you like to see my small collection here? It's not much."

"I'd love to." Belle jumps up, grinning. He tries not to notice how close to him she walks, skirt brushing him, the smell of lavender radiating off of her. He tries not to notice how she stands shorter than him, even with the heels, and how she glances at him out of the corner of her eyes, grinning widely.

When he pushes the door of his office open, she gasps, tossing her bag in a chair and instantly heading for the wall of shelves that are covered with books, trinkets, artifacts, and more. She keeps at her hands carefully clasped behind her back, as if to keep herself from touching the precious items. He sits in his chair, watching her.

"Feel free to pick them up." He offers, when he sees how her fingers twitch at the rudimentary spear.

"Are you sure?" She turns to look at him and when he nods, her eyes glimmer with wholesome, childlike joy. She turns and picks up the spear, gently turning it over in her hands.

"Likely belonging a lowly solider, killed in battle." He explains. "I found it at one of my first digs. Nothing special, really. But I was allowed to take it. It holds more sentimental value than historical, I'm afraid."

"I think it holds a lot of value." Belle breathes, still staring at it, fascinated. "A man trusted this to protect him. He may have died with it his hands. It may have slain other men. Someone built this, used it, and died with it. A whole life, separated from ours by centuries, and we're here, staring at it now."

"Yes." He says, surprised once again. "Yes, I've always thought that it's breathtaking, to hold something that has survived the rush of time. 'Forðon sceall gar wesan monig morgenceald mindum bewunden hæfan on handa'."

"Quoting Beowulf to me?" Belle grins. "I like it. Words and weapons are all that survive. Something revealing in human nature about that." She smiles at his astonished look then carefully sets the spear down and moves to the little knife. "This one?"

"Again, less valuable. See how there's no engraving or inscription of an owner or maker?" He points out and she turns it in her hands. "Probably an early attempt by a beginner."

"Why have it then?" She questions and he's at loss for words.

"It was found by someone close to me." He settles on and Belle takes that at face value, moving to finger the collection of boxes.

"I would have to submit a background check to get some of these from the library and here you have them, in your office." She says a little sadly.

"You're welcome to borrow them." The offer rushes out before he can stop it again.

"Really?" Belle turns to look at him, jaw dropped.

"For your schoolwork." He bluffs. "I expect top marks from you, Miss…"

"Belle." She grins cheekily. "You're calling me Belle."

"Ah." He grimaces. "That feels terribly improper."

"Deal with it." Belle doesn't miss a beat. "Well, I should run. The Registrar's office closes at 4:30 and I need to switch classes. I'll see you on Friday, professor."

"Alright." He says lamely, not sure what to do otherwise. With a grin, Belle wiggles her fingers and disappears out the door, leaving him with spinning thoughts and a vague sense of dread.

* * *

"You're getting pretty dressed up for an afternoon class." Ruby observes, sitting on Belle's bed. She's surrounded by a mountain of clothes on each side, as Belle frantically digs through a dresser.

"Did you take my white bra?" She demands and Ruby briefly glances down her shirt.

"Yeah, I'm wearing it, why?"

"I need it." Exasperated, Belle extends her hand. "Give it."

"Do you have a date afterwards or what?" Ruby questions, sliding the bra out from under her shirt. Belle clasps it around her stomach, then twists and yanks it, pulling the straps up.

"Uh, sure." Belle darts into her closet, trying to find the white ruffled blouse that offers a tasteful hint of her cleavage.

"With who? Don't tell me it's the stupid oaf Garrett. Belle, he is a jerk." Ruby says passionately.

"It's not him." Belle rolls her eyes as she slips the top on and pulls it lower than it normally sits.

"Is it that hot guy, the one guy who owns that motorcycle, the roguishly handsome one?"

"Don't you have a girlfriend?" Belle demands, as she pulled on a skirt and shoves her shirt into the waistband.

"I admire everyone equally." Ruby says fairly and Belle rolls her eyes, diving under her bed to find the correct shoes. "Belle, who is it?"

"You don't know him." Belle mutters, flinging booties out.

"Wait." Ruby scrambles off the bed and pulls open Belle's bag. Belle pops up, looking at her. "You're going to the dark one's class, professor beast. Belle, do not tell me you're getting dressed up for him."

"I'm not." Belle insists, but her cheeks are flaming. Ruby's jaw drops. "I'm not, honestly, I'm—"

"You are too!" Ruby shrieks and Belle ducks into the bathroom. "Oh my god, is that why you've got your fuck me panties on?"

"They are not!" Belle protests and Ruby yanks up her skirt to show a lacy white thong that matches the bra.

"Oh yes they are." Ruby states and Belle swipes mascara on defiantly. "Please tell me he has a hot TA or something. There's a hot guy you sit next to. Belle, come on. Belle, please."

"No." Belle smacks her lips with fresh lipstick. "No, it's him, ok? It's him. I have a massive crush on him. He's never once treated me with anything other than the utmost respect, ok? Christ, man studies the couple centuries before chivalry, but seems hell bent on carrying that out."

"Ok, I don't really understand what that means." Ruby declares. "But I know enough that he's like twice your age, and an asshole to boot! No one takes his classes if they can avoid them. Are you crazy? Who hurt you when you were young? Why do you like pain?"

"No one hurt me." Belle rolls her eyes. "But he's actually traveled the world, studied things. He can hold an intelligent conversation. In fact, half the time, I'm the one trying to keep up with him. He's interesting. Age doesn't matter."

"It does when he can't get it up." Ruby snorts and Belle shoves past her. "You're crazy, do you know that?"

"Of course." Belle sighs, picking through her tights until she finds the right pair, a deep brown that will set off the reds and greens in her skirt. "But let me have my little fantasy ok? It's been the entire semester and I've only managed to work my way into having tea in his office after lectures to talk about history. At this rate I'll be an old lady and we'll have a first kiss."

"And he'll be dead." Ruby remarks and Belle throws a shoe at her. "Well, he will!"

"Don't you have homework?" Belle remarks and Ruby sighs.

"Yeah, but I'm putting it off." She broods. "Dorothy and I are fighting about where we're going to move after school. I feel like we're from two different worlds sometimes."

"You'll figure it out." Belle pulls Ruby in for a hug, pressing her cheek to Ruby's forehead. "You two love each other. You break up, my belief in happy endings is ruined."

"No pressure." Ruby grumbles as Belle grins and grabs her backpack. "Have fun with your sexy professor fantasy!"

"I will!" Belle yells, heading for her car. She arrives at the lecture hall and heads inside, glancing at her watch. 2:07. She'll never be late again, she thinks with a smile. She enters the lecture hall, smiling when she realizes she's even beat him. She slides into her customary seat, taking out her most recent notes. She's rereading them when Gold walks in.

She doesn't look up, playing the little game they've settled into. She'll watch him through her eyelashes as he avoids her gaze, shuffling through papers and getting ready for the lecture. When he's got everything done, he glances up and Belle looks down at her neat handwriting, pretending to study the words from the last lecture. In the margins, she's been doodling lines from Beowulf, some in the Old English Gold is fond of, but mostly in modern english, which she can understand.

She knows his eyes are on her, however, because she can feel it. She can feel his gaze like it's the rays of the hottest sun, burning into her skin even in a drafty lecture hall. Electricity passes between them and Belle doesn't understand how the other students don't feel it, don't feel the chemistry and tension between them. She can almost taste how bad she wants him and unbidden, she licks her lips.

"Door." He booms, the second it's 2:15 and the girl in the back corner locks it, as is the habit. "Alright, today we're going to pick up where we left off, on the excavation of Bedale Hoard. Who can tell me the significance of the materials found, and if Miss French has to answer, I'll add another essay to the final. Oh, yes, you there in the back, welcome to participation. Please, attempt to enlighten us."

He carries on with the lecture and Belle takes good notes, even noting questions she wants to ask him later. She tries to hide her smile when he remarks and ridicules her fellow classmates for their stupid questions, trying to remain impassive. And a couple times, he'll roll his eyes, heave a great sigh, and then turn to her.

She'll answer whatever question he'd posed and then avoid the dirty looks of her classmates. She's got the top grade in the class. Half them think she's sleeping with him to get such a score. They all don't know she would sleep with him without needing a better grade.

When class is finally done, they all pack up. Belle lingers, pretending to be meticulously organizing her notes, until finally everyone trickles out and leaves her with him. Then she waits until he's packed everything up, erased his markings on the board, and turned to her.

"Tea?" He offers, as is customary.

"Please." She gives her typical answer with a grin and follows him back to his office. There, he makes tea and Belle pursues the shelf, deciding what object he'll tell a story about today. She picks a replica of a carved cross, palming it as he pours their tea.

"Good pick." He remarks. "I've always found the conversion to Christianity fascinating."

"Are you Christian?" She asks and he snorts.

"I tend to take after my pagan ancestors. No belief whatsoever mostly."

"Oh." Belle sits and takes her tea. "That shouldn't surprise me, but it does, a little."

"Thought me to be a god-fearing man?" He questions, smiling.

"No." Belle shakes her head and sips her tea. "I guess not. You're still pretty much a mystery to me."

"That's part of my appeal." He tells her, but he's got a hint of a smile. "Would you like me half as much if I spilled my secrets?"

"I think I'd like you twice as much." Belle says stoutly and that startles him into laughter.

"I'll keep a couple back for my sanity then." He grins and she does too, then turns her gaze back to the books.

They talk in a friendly manner for a long while and eventually the tea goes cold, but neither seems to mind. Belle listens enraptured as he tells stories about traveling all over Great Britain, assisting at digs and inspecting pieces. He's got a wonderful voice, and Belle listens to it, letting it lull her into relaxation.

"Thank you for the tea and letting me pick your brain." Belle says, a little sadly, when she knows their time is coming to an end. He smiles, cleaning up their mess.

"I hope to see some of the points you made this afternoon reflected back in your final essay." He remarks. "Have you narrowed down your focus to begin your research?"

"Sure." Belle grins, feeling bold. "I think I'll study the most elusive character of them all. A professor entrenched in the history of the period. I'll research his background and story, and provide my analysis on why he likes to be perceived as so intimidating."

The change the comes over him is nearly instantaneous. His face turns cloudy and closed, smile dropping off his face and hand clenching around his cane. His eyes, usually a warm whiskey color, are suddenly dark as a moonless night.

"I think it best you leave." He says shortly, opening the door and showing her out. She's getting a door slammed in her face before she even has a chance to figure out what she said wrong. She stares at it in disbelief, with half a mind to barge it down. Then she turns on her heel and storms away, swiping at the angry tears, feeling like she's done something very, very serious.

 **AN:** Second half up this time next week! Let me know thoughts, and if there's other scenes you'd like, I'm more than happy to write them!


	2. Chapter 2

He misses Belle. He misses their tea and talks. He misses her sly smile and the little rituals they'd developed, a little dance only they know the steps to. Since her joke during afternoon tea, he hasn't been able to bring himself to apologize for his sharp words.

In truth, he can't bring himself to tell her why he'd snapped. Because he's a private man and the idea of people poking about in his business alarms him. No, because he's a bad man and the idea of Belle poking around in his past alarms him. That's the truth.

But he's a coward, so he remains silent, despite the fact that Belle's blazing gaze follows him around the hall. She won't raise her hand to speak now, but as the days to the end of the semester tick ever closer, her classmates are more willing to speak up.

When she turns in her final paper, he wavers between reading it first, devouring it in one sitting, and reading it last so he can savor every sweet word of hers before he never sees her again. He finally decides to read it last, using it as motivation to struggle through some of the dimmer, boring papers written by other students.

When he finally reads through it, his heart wants to sing. She's chosen Beowulf as her focus, his favorite poem from the era, and she has indeed chosen to include some of his choice comments from their tea sessions. Half the time in the paper she rebukes him. Half the time she agrees. And every word is well thought out, meticulously researched, and wonderfully written.

When he's read through it three times, he goes to mark her grade in the corner. Poised with a red pen, he has an awful, wicked thought. He knows he shouldn't do it, that he should be a good, honest man, and let her walk out of his life with the distinction of being the first student in his history to fail to earn his ire.

But he needs to talk to her, just one last time, because if he doesn't, he's letting the source of happiness walk out of his life. Good or bad, he needs her attention. He craves it. So, with a flinch, he marks down her grade and adds it to the bottom of the pile.

The next day, when the lecture is done, he instructs them to pick up their reports, reminding them of the date and time of the final. They file through, shuffling through the papers and taking their own. They don't even wait to leave the hall before they're grumbling. Belle is the last to grab hers and she snatches it.

He avoids her gaze, pretending to be very invested in his computer. But he counts her steps and by his estimation, she gets a couple feet up before she stops. There's a long pause, and then she whirls around, flying at him with a furious expression.

"Are you kidding me? Are you actually fucking kidding me?" She demands, slamming the paper down on the desk. "D? You're giving me a D? What the fuck? You really are the dark one. You know I deserve a better grade!"

"Do I?" He fights to keep his voice level. "Your composition was sloppy, your ideas are half thought out at best, and you contradict yourself at every turn."

"No, I did not." Belle's nostrils flare. She's still quite pretty when angry, he notes. "I used the arguments you gave me, you jackass!"

"Should I report you to the honor committee for plagiarism then?" He remarks and she flips to the last page, shoving it in his face.

"I cited you, you absolute ass! I gave you credit! I slaved over this thing for three weeks! I got books delivered from other libraries, I researched my ass off, I tracked down obscure manuscripts! I deserve an A. I'm not walking out of here without an A." She ends her tirade breathing slightly heavy and he watches the affect it has on her chest, mesmerized.

"Perhaps I was mistaken." He admits, still avoiding her eyes. "Perhaps I mistook a D for a B."

"What?" Belle's eyebrows scrunch in confusion and then a second later, it hits. "Ooh, you... You bastard! Are you kidding me? Was thing a joke? Were you trying to joke with me?"

"Belle, your piece was remarkable." He chances a glance up at her, finding her stunned face endearing despite himself. "Truly, I've never read anything like it. I've half a mind to take credit and publish it."

"It's half you anyways." She goes pink. "You pointed me in all the right directions."

"But where you went with them?" He's eager to shower praise on her, if it'll keep her this happy color. "Belle, it was astonishing. It was a privilege to read it. Especially after reading your peers' all evening."

"Does this mean I'm getting an A?" Belle asks in disbelief.

"It does." He agrees. "The first ever. You should cherish it."

"I do." Belle looks down at it in wonder then looks back up at him. "Does this mean we're ok? I don't know what I said, but I am sorry for it you know. I didn't mean to upset or offend you."

"It's quite alright." He's surprised at how gentle he is, but it's the truth. "It was me. I am… Not accustomed to sharing intimate talk with others, especially students."

"Intimate talk." Belle smirks. "That sounds dirty, professor Gold."

"Ah," He loses the ability to form words. "Well."

"Don't worry, I don't usually engage with intimate talk with my professors either." Belle winks, gathering her stuff back up. "You're a special case. Sorry I yelled at you, but in my defense, it was a low prank."

"Perhaps you'd let me make it up to you." He watches himself offer, floating ten feet over his body, in disbelief.

"I'd like that." Belle grins. "I'd quite like to see the private collection you've got sometime. And tea, since we've missed the last couple weeks."

"Alright." He agrees distantly and Belle waves, disappearing up the stairs and out the doors. He sits down heavily, not sure what the hell he's gotten himself into.

* * *

Belle's always been one to remove distractions from a room when she's testing. Flickering lights, music, a fidgeting classmate, she's never been able to focus. She needs silence. She needs calm. And so, for the first time in her life, she wishes like hell Gold would leave the room.

He's sitting at the front desk, observing them as they test. Belle's answering the questions with ease, and she could be done well ahead of schedule. But she doesn't want to be. She wants to stay with him, as long as she can.

Her classmates start to trickle out, setting their finals on the desk and walking out, rubbing their temples. Belle focuses and answers the remaining few questions, before going back through to review her answers. She makes notes in the margins, remarking upon trick questions or the nature of them, commenting on his mindset when he wrote them.

When the bell chimes, she's one of a few remaining. She pretends to fumble with her things, while her fellows turn in their papers. She lingers, pretending to read it over one last time, until the room is finally clear.

"Belle, I do believe the time period is over." His voice has just a touch of arrogant swagger in it, making her knees weak. "Turn your paper in promptly."

"Yes professor." She grins, handing it to him and he tucks it with the rest in his briefcase. "When can I expect my grade?"

"Depends." He chuckles. "If I grade it first or wait and do it last so I regain some faith in the future."

"Very funny." Belle rolls her eyes. "So when do I get to see your private collection?"

"Is it something you'd like to see now?" He asks mildly, locking his briefcase.

"Sure!" A little surprised, but delighted, Belle bobs her head. "Should I ride with you or…"

"As I carry your finals?" He raises an eyebrow. "Let me give them to my TA for grading. I'll give you my address and you can meet me there in say, 45 minutes?"

"Perfect." Stomach doing backflips, Belle extends her hand. He drops an address in it. "Thanks. I'll go get us coffee. How do you like yours?"

"Black like my soul." He quips and she relaxes, sticking her tongue out and heading out the door. She stops by the coffee shop on campus, trying to keep her hands from shaking. With relief, she sees that Ruby's working.

"Help." She hisses when she gets to the front of the line. "I need a peppermint mocha with extra whip and a black coffee."

"You hate coffee black." Ruby remarks, as she types the order in. "Why are you— Oh no. Didn't you have the monster's final today? Don't tell me."

"Yup." Belle's voice shakes from nerves. "Oh fuck, what did I get myself into?"

"Are you going against your will?" Ruby demands loudly and Belle frantically shushes her. "Because if you are, I'll kill him."

"No, I want to go. Ruby, I want to go so bad, that's the problem! I'm going to jump his bones, you know I'm going to."

"Yeah, you are." Ruby remarks, unimpressed. "Christ, you are out of control. Why do you even want to sleep with him?"

"We can discuss my daddy issues later." Belle decides. "Hurry up. I still have to locate his house and I need to find a quiet side street to have a panic attack on real quick."

"You're so weird." Ruby caps the coffee. "Will you please text me and keep me updated? I know that I'm working, but I'm pretty certain if you need anything, Granny will let me go." They both look at the manager of the coffee shop, an elderly woman who treats each student as if they were her grandkid.

"I won't need anything, except maybe more condoms. Hopefully." Belle winks, grabbing the coffee. "Wish me luck!"

"I still don't approve!" Ruby yells as Belle disappears out the door.

His house is easy enough to find, nestled in the residential area, amongst plenty of big houses with neat porches and intricate fences. Belle walks up the drive, clutching the coffee, looking around in awe. She notices the nice car in the driveway and concludes he must be home. She nudges the door with her booted foot.

"Ah, there you are." He answers the door, having shed his coat and suit jacket, still impeccably dressed in a silk shirt, waistcoat, sleeve garters, cufflinks, pants, and shoes. Belle edges in and looks around in wonder.

Items, and not just those of the era he teaches on, cover the surfaces. He has ships and lamps and statues of nude women. It's a dizzying array of moments in history and she turns slowly, trying to take it all in.

"Wow." She breathes. "This is… This is… Amazing. Honestly."

"Glad you like it." He says quietly and she remembers the coffee, thrusting it at him.

"Here, black, like you like it." She says and he takes a sip, then raises his eyebrows.

"This is certainly… Something." He comments and she looks at him in confusion. "Is that… Whipped cream?"

"Oh." Blushing, she realizes what's happened and quickly switches the coffees. "Sorry. I like fru-fru coffee. My roommate gives me hell for it, but I can't seem to develop a taste for stronger."

"I can see why." He takes a sip of his own coffee. "Come in, feel free to take your coat and such off."

"Thank you." Belle kicks off her heeled boots and coat, darting into the living in her stocking feet. "Yell when I need to stop, but— Holy shit, is that a Degas?"

"A replica, but a good one." He follows, grinning. Belle stares up at the painting. "I met a restorer when I was in Italy. We got to talking over drinking. He sent me this as a thank you when I, uh, helped him out of tight corner."

"You're a strange man." Belle mummers, but then she's pulled into the other rooms, looking through the art in wonder. Everywhere she turns is some new treasure, and she can't help but be entranced by them all. If Gold objects to her traversing through his house, he says nothing but follows behind, smiling, happy to tell the stories of certain pieces.

"Belle, careful—!" He says, but he's too late. Belle, in attempting to reach an item on a high shelf, has leaned against a table with a sharp edge. She eases back instantly, but the damage is done. A rip in her tights runs across her thigh.

"Oh, man." She looks down at them in sadness. "Aw, I liked this pair."

"I am so sorry." Gold offers her his hand and she steps away, inspecting the tear. "I should've told you that damn thing is sharp, the number of times it's—"

"It's what?" Belle looks up in interest and he clams up. "But don't worry about it. I'm completely fine. No blood, see? I'll just toss these. You have a garbage?"

"Of course." He turns to get one and Belle quickly yanks her tights off, sending up a quiet thanks that she'd shaved her legs the previous night. When he turns, holding a bin outstretched, she's standing in her bare feet and fitted skirt. His eyes widen visibly and she throws her tights into the bin.

"Ok, what else is there?" She wonders aloud, cheeks on fire, acutely aware that his eyes now follow her form around the room.

She keeps her hands busy by picking up items and turning them over, inspecting them carefully, blabbering on, because her insides are turning to liquid every time she turns and sees his shining eyes on her. She wants nothing more than to reach out and stroke the hair he keeps long around his shoulders. To pull off that shirt and wrap herself up in it. She's in his home and she can hardly stand it.

"I think you've made it through all the rooms dearie." He remarks, when she reaches the end of the last room.

"What's through here?" She asks, hand resting lightly on the doorknob.

"Just my study." He waves a hand. "Nothing in there to see."

"I think there's a lot." Belle says seriously. "May I?"

"If you'd like." He looks a little baffled and so she pushes in, looking around in astonishment. It's got dark wood paneling and a fireplace, a real fireplace, with a low fire crackling. Here alone, does she see personal artifacts- a picture frame with a small, serious little boy, of him at a dig, fresh faced and grinning, of him in what must be the Highlands of his youth.

"I like this room." She says openly.

"Thank you." He only looks slightly uncomfortable here and so she turns with a smile.

"Thank you, for letting me stick my nose here. I appreciate it." She steps forward and takes his hands. "You're a great teacher, really."

"Ah, well, it seems I no longer have the pleasure of teaching you." He attempts to joke weakly and Belle's heart is pounding. "You were, ah, a delight."

"Was I?" Belle teases, refusing to let go of his hands. "I thought I drove you crazy with my questions."

"There were times, but an educator never gets annoyed by good, strong questions. The ones of your peers? Those are maddening."

"Good." Belle eases a little closer, trying not to scare him away like a wounded animal. "It's because I wanted so badly for your attention to be on me."

"I assure you, you had it most firmly from the day you stormed in." He breathes, looking down at her, and Belle chuckles, remembering her graceless entrance that first day.

"I told you, it was a happy mistake." She smiles up at him, sure he too must feel the tension between them, hot and delicious. "I'd make it again, even if everyone told me I was crazy for taking your class willingly."

"And what did you get out of it?" He breathes and Belle presses her body against him and she's too deep now to lift herself out of this storm, so she plunges in further.

"I got an education, and one hell of an inappropriate crush on my professor."

"Belle." He mutters, looking down at her with wide eyes. "Belle, you don't want… Want me."

"Oh yes I do." Belle says firmly, snaking an arm around his neck. "I've dreamt about you. About you touching me, kissing me, loving me. I know what you're going to say. You're too old. You're my professor. But I don't give a flying fuck, because I've spent weeks wanting you. So say you want me too and then kiss me."

"Belle," He mutters, finally freeing one hand and stroking her cheek. "You cannot even imagine how badly I've wanted you."

Then he lowers his lips to hers. It's like fireworks are exploding behind her eyes and everything in her pools in her belly, warming her with desire. She wants nothing more than to sink down on the floor and dissolve into him. He seems to have to same idea, as he's pulling her towards the couch, and sinks down with her. He tastes like black coffee and she's lost in him.

She pushes herself as close as she can to him, hovering over him and looking down at his eyes. They're dark with desire and she can't help but grin at him, brushing her hair back and dropping down to give him one last, long, lingering kiss before threading her fingers into his hair.

"I want you." She says simply. "I've wanted you since that first class. And I want you now."

"Belle." He gasps. "Belle, are you sure?"

"Yes." She leans down and kisses him again. "And I swear to god if you ask me that again, I'm tying you to a bed."

"Please." He grins, then groans when she slips her hand down between them, fiddling with his buckle. She succeeds in getting it loose, pulling it off and tossing it aside. Next come the sleeve garters. She debates asking him where those spring from, but then she's distracted again by the way his lips trail down her neck, each of them nearly burning her.

She unbuttons his shirt, baring his chest. It rises and falls rapidly, and when Belle places her hand against his heart, she feels his heartbeat like a hummingbird. His eyes are wide and she can see that deep in him, he's waiting for and expecting her rejection. So instead, she dips to kiss every inch of his neck and collarbones, slowly and passionately.

"I want you." She repeats to him and he looks at her, still astonished at her words. "Please."

"Are you—" He starts and then stops himself when she looks at him sternly. "Of course Belle." His hands are trembling, just slightly, when he touches her waist and pulls her close to him. His hands drift over her butt and she kisses him, trying to encourage him to go further. After a long couple moments, he finally slides his hands up beneath her skirt.

"Oh, about that." She whispers, biting his ear. "I don't wear underwear when I wear tights and since the tights are gone…"

"Oh my god." He moans as he finds her already wet. "Belle, you are… Sweet Belle, darling Belle…"

"Please." She whispers and he gently eases one finger between her legs, teasing her and Belle squirms, trying to press herself onto him, chasing that feeling of fullness she desires so badly. He seems to like this, kissing her again. He keeps teasing her until she can feel herself starting to quiver with desire. She gasps, toes curling, heart pounding.

"Say you want me." He croons and she crumples in his arms as she finally gives into the wave.

"Oh, I want you… I want you so much, fuck, you cannot possibly know how much I want you." She pants, as her hips buck and writhe. "Oh my god, this is amazing, holy shit, how are you… Doing this?"

"Because I want you." He lets her come down slowly, teasing out the aftershocks as she stares up at him. "I have wanted you, your sass and wit and kind heart. You are everything that I have ever wanted Belle."

"Good." Belle drops another kiss onto his temple. "I want you too. I, uh, have a condom in my purse."

"Oh." His eyes go wide. "No, I, well, I have those, in my, well, bedroom."

"Oh." Belle sits back and blinks, taken aback. "Do you want us, well, go there? To your bedroom?"

"Do you not want to?" He looks instantly apprehensive.

"Yes." Belle quickly grabs his hands. "But you don't exactly like letting people in. I just want to make sure you're comfortable."

"Yes. I want to let you into my life." He admits, a little shyly and Belle stands, helping him up. He leads her through a door tucked away, into a bedroom that matches the study. For a second, she's busy admiring the king-sized bed, before he comes up and wraps his arms around her.

"Come here." She whispers, turning around back to him and gently easing him down onto the bed with her. "Come here." She repeats herself as she tugs his pants off, then his boxers, until he is naked. He tries to cover his injured knee, but Belle shakes her head and eases it back into your light. "All of you is perfect for me."

"Let me see you." He requests. He pulls off her shirt, then undoes her bra and finally tugs her skirt down. She leans him back and climbs astride him, hovering over him. He fumbles for a condom and she stills his hands, guiding it on then kissing the tip. "Please?" He pleads and she lowers herself slowly onto him, Belle gasping, Gold moaning.

When she sets a gentle rocking pace, both of them are breathless. Between movements, they tell each other things, about lust and desire and passion and hope and adoration and even love. Belle feels like her heart is singing, and when he finishes, she does too, burying her face in his neck and breathing in his closeness.

Afterwards, he insists on making her dinner, a backwards sort of date night, and Belle perches in one of his shirts, eating fresh fruit and pestering him with questions about his plans for his upcoming sabbatical. After a moment, she disappears and comes back with her term paper, stretching it out to him.

"Fix it." She orders, as he stares at her in amusement. "Now that I've actually slept with my professor like half the class thought I was, I want you to fix it. Come on, fix it."

"Fine." He relents, and leaves the strew simmering on the stove, getting his red grading pen. He marks the D as an A with a flourish and hands it back to her. "Are you happy?"

"Yes." Belle grins and kisses his cheek, before tacking it to the fridge. "There. To remind you that you can give out A's."

"Only to pretty girls who may be smarter than me." He remarks and snags her waist to pull her close. "And I don't think I'll come across someone who holds a candle to you for another century.

"Good." Belle says innocently, kissing his nose. "Because I don't share well, and I intend to be the only student sleeping with you. After all, if everyone's going to talk about how I got that A, I might as well get some fun out of it, right?"

"And what do I get in return?" He questions teasingly but Belle sighs and tucks herself into his chest.

"You get me." She whispers and when he presses a tender kiss to her forehead, she knows this is exactly right.

 **AN:** Sorry it's a little late, but here's part two! I might do one-shoots, so if you have any moments, send them on over, otherwise I'll do another story like this similar next week. Thanks for reading, leave a review on your way out!


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